


Brownie Points

by DrSallySparrow



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-15
Updated: 2016-12-15
Packaged: 2018-09-08 16:10:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8851429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrSallySparrow/pseuds/DrSallySparrow
Summary: It takes sugar and spice to make Potter play nice...





	

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [underthemistletoe](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/underthemistletoe) collection. 



> **Prompt:**  
>  Pansy's organising a charity Quidditch match on Boxing Day. She's trying to enlist the famous Hero Who Refused To Die to join a team of other celebs and professional Quidditch players. Harry's not keen but Pansy can be very persuasive...

_**Warnings:** rated M for sexual content and language_

_**Disclaimer:** all canon characters, plots, and situations from the Harry Potter series belong to JK Rowling. I am not profiting from this writing._

 

* * *

 

_**Brownie Points** _

_** ** _  

The door to Pansy’s office cracked open, and Daphne’s head of golden curls appeared around it. 

“Hey, Pans,” she sing-songed, shouldering her way in and holding out a small paper bag. “So I just _happened_ to pass Calumnia’s Cakes on the way back from the Ministry and I thought -”

Pansy gave a groan and dropped her head into her hands, drowning out the rest of Daphne’s words. “He said no again, didn’t he?”

Daphne paused, blinking, then quickly smiled again. “I have good news and bad news.”

“Salazar’s fucking balls,” Pansy sighed, “Remind me why I employed you?”

“Good news!” Daphne crowed, “I bought you a brownie, and he didn’t say no.”

Pansy lifted her head enough to shoot her friend a glare. “What’s the bad news?”

Daphne’s smile faded slightly. “I was really hoping we could stop at the good news,” she said, shaking the bag still held in her outstretched hand. “Brownies!”

“Daph!” Pansy yelled.

“OK,” Daphne nodded, her shoulders drooping. “The bad news is that he said,” and here her voice dropped to a whisper, “Over his dead body would he help out Pansy fucking Parkinson.”

“Ugh, Potter is such a _dick,_ ” Pansy growled, grabbing her cloak and handbag and storming from the office, pausing only to snatch the brownies from Daphne on her way out.

 

* * *

 

Pansy had her heels up on the desk and was leafing idly through a report on sales of cursed jewellery to Muggle antique dealers when the door swung open.

“What the -” Harry grimaced, then yelled over his shoulder, “Hestia! I need you to call pest control!”

Pansy grinned as the Carrow witch appeared behind him. “It's Tuesday, sir, so I'm Flora. Why do you need pest control?” she asked, with a slight grimace. “Is it that charmed Mistletoe again?”

“No,” Harry said, his nose wrinkling as he gestured towards where Pansy sat, now swinging idly back and forth in the swivel chair. “My office appears to have a different sort of infestation.”

Hestia (Pansy was fairly certain it _was_ Hestia) leaned past his elbow, giving Pansy a once-over and then a tiny smile. “I'm sorry, Auror Potter,” the little witch said, “but my mother had very strict rules: ‘see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil.’ Let me know if you want tea!” she added gaily, as she closed the door on the pair of them.

Harry sighed and ran a hand through his already ridiculous hair. “What,” he asked wearily, “the _fuck_ are you doing in my office, Parkinson?”

“I'm here on behalf of the orphans of the Wizarding War, Potter,” she said tartly, ignoring the way that he rolled his eyes. “Look,” she said, falsely sweet, batting her eyelashes at him and holding up the bag that she'd taken from Daphne. “I even brought you a brownie.” Harry snorted, turning away from her to shrug off his Auror robes, loosening the tie he wore underneath and unbuttoning his collar to reveal an extra couple of inches of dark five o’clock shadow. Pansy’s mouth suddenly felt a little dry.

“I don't want a fucking brownie,” Harry grumbled. “And I already told Daphne,” he continued as he faced Pansy once more, hands on his hips as though to deliberately emphasise the way his lean torso tapered from his broad shoulders. “I don't want to be a part of some insane vanity pro-”

“It is _not_ a vanity project!” Pansy seethed, abruptly furious. “It's a fucking quidditch match! For _charity_!”

“Right,” Harry scoffed, “Because the fact that it presents you as a bleeding heart _and_ the darling of the social set has nothing to do with it _at all_.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Pansy snarled, pushing herself up from the chair and marching across the room to stab a finger into his chest (incidentally confirming that it was as firmly muscled as it looked under the tight cotton oxford). “It’s not as though I'm asking you because I _want_ you there. But if Harry Potter, famous seeker and biggest fucking celebrity in Wizarding Britain _doesn't_ play, then not only do _I_ look like a complete twat but, news flash, _so do you._ ”

Harry caught hold of her wrist, his grip firm but not bruising. He was tall enough to loom over her and Pansy felt a surprising but not at all unpleasant frisson of heat at his proximity. “What if I already have plans?” he asked. “It's Boxing Day, after all.”

“Plans?” Pansy sneered. “With who? You and Ginny Ginger split up months ago, and in any case she, along with most of your stupid friends, is already playing in the match, or at least coming along to supp-”

“I might have friends that you don't know about,” Harry growled, and Pansy tossed her head with frustration, finally wrenching her arm free of his grasp and gesturing expansively around the room.

“Oh yes, because you’re so _famed_ for your subtlety and discretion _,_ Potter, I'm sure you've got _loads_ of secret friends.” She folded her arms and raised a brow, ready for his next volley.

“Yeah?” Harry said. “Allow me to remind you, _Pansy_ , that _you're_ famed for being the Slytherbitch who wanted to hand me over to Voldemort”

“Ooh,” Pansy smirked, “ _Burn_.” She leaned towards him, “I'm also famed for my philanthropic work, which would be a lot easier to accomplish if you would stop being an _arsehole_ and just agree to play in the bloody match!”

Harry swallowed, his gaze flicking downwards to where the swell of Pansy’s breasts was pushed upwards by her still-folded arms. She nearly laughed with disbelief because surely, _surely_ -

She realised that she was staring at his mouth, and raised her eyes to find him giving her an appraising look. “What do I get,” Harry asked, his voice suddenly gruff, “If I agree to play?”

“Not going to do it out of the goodness of your heart?” Pansy pouted. “My my, Potter, where _is_ your Christmas spirit?” she asked coyly, tossing her hair to one side in a way that she knew showed off the slender length of her neck. Harry didn't reply, but his eyes narrowed slightly, and Pansy deployed her best cat-that-got-the-cream smirk.

“I'd be grateful,” she said huskily, reaching out to take hold of his tie, and sliding her fingers up the scarlet silk. When he didn't push her away Pansy smiled wider and took a step back, her bum hitting the edge of his desk. The tie stretched between them, and Harry cocked his head, the corner of his mouth lifting.

“How grateful?” he asked, stepping forward and planting his hands on the desk to either side of her hips. Pansy wanted to laugh at the unexpected discovery that Harry Potter had _game_ , but she was distracted by the muscles of her lower abdomen clenching as he parted her legs with one of his.

“Oh,” she said, moving her nose along the strong line of his jaw and then bringing her lips to his ear. “ _Very_ grateful indeed.”

“Interesting,” Harry said, skimming his fingers up her spine to hold the nape of her neck, then leaning past her to press a button on his desk. “ _Flora_ ,” he said, placing an ironic emphasis on the name that told Pansy he was well aware of the twins’ little joke. She felt a sudden thrill of fear that Harry was going to kick her out, that she might have just made a terrible fool of herself, before he continued. “Cancel my four o’clock, would you?”

“Absolutely, Auror Potter.”

Pansy could hear the smirk in Hestia’s voice, but she forgot to care when Harry returned his brilliant green gaze to hers. “We were discussing the matter of gratitude,” he said, his polite tone belied by the way his hand was creeping up her thigh.

“We were,” Pansy agreed, offering him a prim smile that was swiftly undermined as she looped her fingers through his belt to pull him flush against her. “And I was about to say that, _if_ you would agree to play in the match, then I'd be happy to _demonstrate_ my gratitude.”

With seeker-quickness he had tugged down the zip at the back of her dress, his lips following the falling fabric over her décolletage. Before Pansy’s brain had quite caught up with the motion she felt the heat of his mouth against the cup of her bra, his tongue dragging the lace across the hard bead of her nipple with a delicious friction that had her stifling a gasp.

“Potter,” she choked out, twisting her fingers in his hair and pulling his head up to glare at him. “ _Harry_. Are you going to play or not?”

He grinned at her, his pupils dark and dilated in a way that made her insides go molten. “Why Miss Parkinson,” he said pleasantly, “You know, I think I might be free after all.”

Pansy’s sharp laugh was cut off as he brought his mouth to hers, his lips soft but firm, as insistent as his grip on her nape, on her thigh. Pansy sighed into his mouth, deftly working his belt buckle and then the button of his trousers, slipping her hand inside his briefs to take hold of (another pleasant surprise) his hard and not-inconsiderable length.

Harry’s teeth closed on her lip as she started moving her hand, and then he hummed his approval as his fingers skimmed the top of her stocking, and moved further up.

His touch grazed against her sex, and Harry broke his mouth from hers to gave her a look that was part incredulity, part delight. “You're not wearing any underwear.”

Pansy shrugged. “I rarely do,” she purred, staring up at him from under her lashes. He stopped laughing when she pushed him away, grabbing his tie to tug him around the desk before shoving him roughly into the chair, the buttons of his shirt opening with a flick of her fingers.

When she hitched up her skirt and climbed atop him Harry grinned again, his hands rising to cup the plump smoothness of her arse. Pansy reached into his briefs to free him completely, and with Harry’s firm grip steadying her she positioned herself above him.

“Now,” she said, cocking her head and smiling her most shit-eating grin, “One last time. Are you going to play on Boxing Day?”

Harry's fingers flexed around her, his thumbs pressing into her hips. “Yessss,” he said, the ‘s’ elongating into a hiss as Pansy slid herself down his length.

She gave a gasp as he thrust upwards, the head of his shaft hitting a spot that she'd previously believed was reserved only for quality time alone in her bedroom with her collection of mail-order purchases from Madame Marchbank’s Wands for Wayward Witches.

“Like that?” Harry said, his teeth against her neck as he lifted her with seeming effortlessness, and Pansy moaned her agreement as his cock thrust into her again.

“I said,” Harry growled, “Do - you - like - that?”

He punctuated each word with a buck of his hips, and Pansy curled her nails into the skin of his shoulders as she groaned, “Fuck, _yes_!”

Harry’s smile was lazy, though his face was flushed as he moved his hand back to her nape, tipping her mouth towards his. “And are -” he inhaled sharply as Pansy bounced herself up and down, her back arching as he hit her G-spot again. “Are you grateful?”

“Oh!” she said, “Oh, _so_ grateful.” She opened her eyes to see him return her grin, and brought her hands to his cheeks as she pressed her lips to his, feeling the tension building and building and building and -

“Fucking - so - _yes_!” Pansy cried, as the coiling knot inside her snapped and euphoria danced its way across her skin. Harry held her waist as he relinquished his control to thrust urgently, his mouth on her breast as the waves of her orgasm shivered and spread, and then he gave a sharp grunt, and Pansy bent her head to kiss him as he came, licking into his mouth as he exhaled, his arms tightening around her and fingers stroking the curve of one shoulder blade.

“And to think I was under the impression,” Harry murmured against her mouth after a few minutes, “that charity begins at home.”

Pansy hummed thoughtfully in reply, trailing her fingers from his cheek to his jaw, and then tugging gently on his loose collar. “Depends, Potter,” she said, smoothing the cotton so that her hand rested against his collarbone. “Mine or yours?”


End file.
